


Inside the Walls

by Dordean



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 22:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14482206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dordean/pseuds/Dordean
Summary: A glimpse of what once was - of what could have been.Cross-posted ontumblr- a short and blatantly self-indulgent ficlet inspired by a tumblr discussion (rant), and based on the scene in Lady of the Lake where Ciri finds Emhyr's touch soothing.





	Inside the Walls

There’s a splat-splat-splat sound on the corridor, getting closer. He puts the quill down and leans back in his chair. He assess he has about ten seconds left.

Exactly nine seconds later the door to his chamber squeak open and he’s assaulted by an ashen-blond vortex of raw energy, curiosity, questions, and impatience he can deeply empathise with.

He pushes his chair away from the desk, and Cirilla takes it as an invitation to climb onto his lap and make herself comfortable. It was not quite what he had in mind but he accepts his fate with quiet resignation.

As Emhyr var Emreis, he could have demanded discipline; maintained a distance befitting his position. As Duny of Erlenwald, he has no grounds to do so. It’s a part of a role he chose and is now forced to play, until the seeds he has been meticulously planting for the last few years start to grow.

He has also a quiet suspicion the discipline wouldn’t work.

His daughter seems utterly unlike her quiet, withdrawn mother. The word “withdrawn” does not exist in Cirilla’s vocabulary.

“Papa?” the unmistakably green eyes look up at him. “Grandmother said we’re going to Skellige?”

“We are,” he says.

Away from Calanthe’s watchful eyes it will be a little easier - both to maintain the disguise and to lay the foundations for his future moves.

“Great!” Cirilla squeals in delight. “I can play with Cerys and Hjalmar again! When are we going?”

“The day after tomorrow,” he replies and gets up from the chair with the girl in his arms. She snuggles closer to him as he carries her out to the balcony.

The sun is setting, painting the sky in hues of pink. It’s a clear evening and the distant sea can be seen on the horizon. But he doesn’t look towards the sea. Instead, he stares at the mountains, a dark wall in the south, barely seen against the darkening sky; a wall separating him from the life he should be living.

 _Patience_ , he tells himself. There _has_ to be a way to bring back the empire as it should be; to avenge his father, his family; to restore his position. And he will find it. It will take time, but he will find it.

Cirilla wriggles in his arms.

“Papa?” her voice is quiet, wary. He realises he tightened his grip on her involuntarily, and he forces himself to loosen it a little.

“Go to your room and start preparing,” he looks down at her. Those green eyes shine in the last light of the day, innocent, trusting. A shard of ice in his heart shifts a little. “Make sure you take the toy dragon with you this time. I will not have dramas _again_.”

“It’s a _wyvern_ ,” she pouts. “And her name is Lily and she _missed me terribly_.”

He puts her down and she runs out, splat-splat-splat dying out on the corridor.

He turns to look at the mountains once more when the air behind him cracks.

He spins around only to see a cloaked figure standing by the door. He freezes, his thoughts chasing one another in a frenzy.

Assassination? Teleportation is impossible within the palace walls, it has a strong magical protection. A projection? But who would be both powerful and bold enough to try something like that? And why would they approach him?

“Who are you?” he demands, the var Emreis authority turning his voice to steel.

The hooded figure gives him a formal bow - a man, and not old, his movements graceful.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” the man’s voice is silky smooth and Emhyr stiffens. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Vilgefortz of Roggeveen.”


End file.
